


Sixty-Seven Years

by kitsunerei88



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Fic Challenge, Fluff, Forum: Goldenlake, Peculiar Pairings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was younger, and even though Kel had broken many taboos on the way to knighthood, somehow this one was the wall. Written for Glake's 2016 Peculiar Pairings Promenade. [Kel/Alan of Pirate's Swoop].</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixty-Seven Years

He was younger.   
  
Not a lot younger, granted, but younger. Two and a half years younger, to be precise, a young eighteen to her twenty-one. Keladry had broken many taboos on her road to knighthood, but for some reason, this one was the wall. Whatever Neal might think, Kel was not, emphatically _not_ , seeing a boy three years younger than her. Especially not one that was squire to her former knight-master, to boot.   
  
Alan was just _different_. He was different from Alanna, different from the rest of the raucous King’s Own that so often came to New Hope, and different from her own friends, who often talked and talked and talked about nothing at all. Alan listened, of all people, listened when others spoke, and he thought about things before he said them. When Alan said something, that something was always well thought out, always well considered, never simply thrown out there. She had asked about it, once – he had merely smiled and said that someone had to listen to all that talk. She figured that it had something to do with a very loud family, and an evidently wild twin sister.   
  
Kel had never met Aly, but she got the sense that Alan had purposely delayed his own page training by three years largely so Aly wouldn’t be so lonely at home at the Swoop. She never asked, however – whatever that was about, Alan didn’t have any regrets and from the little he _did_ say, he was evidently quite protective of his twin.  
  
So they spent time together – reading, playing chess, doing those small, minor tasks that were so necessary in wartime, things like mending tack and clothing, counting inventory, checking equipment. And they did so, sometimes with quiet, considered conversation. Most of the time, they did so silently.  
  
Yes, they were friendly. Maybe they were even friends. At a stretch, she supposed they could even be considered rather close friends. But Kel, even if she did have time to consider seeing men, was absolutely not interested in _seeing_ , in that sense, a boy two and a half years younger than herself.  
  


XXX

  
  
By the time she was twenty-five, the war had ended. It was a slow, torturous, drawn-out end – even without the killing devices (a name that Alan had snorted was a useless description if there was one, noting that in the future there would be many machines that could be called such), Maggur could field a sizeable army. There were a lot of skirmishes, still, that first year; less so in the second, and even less in the third, when the official peace talks started. They couldn’t afford to go home, during the peace talks; but when the treaties were signed just before Midwinter and the orders came for the retreat, Kel enthusiastically joined in the cheering at New Hope.  
  
There were still challenges, of course – many of the refugees could not go home, their home fiefs being largely destroyed, and shockingly many of them simply did not want to go home. So, though Kel thankfully had leave to return to Corus for Midwinter, her work was not yet done – she had to figure out some way to keep the refugee camp, perhaps now more a town than a camp, running without the military administration.  
  
She mentioned it to Alan, now a tall and lean twenty-three, in one of their frequent letters. He met her in her rooms (surprisingly large quarters, a nod to her formal title as Lady Knight Commander of New Hope) with a thick tome of precedent law.  
  
“I had a look through the library and spoke to Duke Turomot of Wellam about your problem,” he said, with little introduction. “It seems that the usual course of action is for the camp to become a fief and awarded for exceptional service during the war. That was the origin for fiefs Dunlath, Aili and Korpita in the south.”  
  
Kel waved him towards her sitting room and sighed. “I thought as much, but hoped there was another way. I dislike the thought of New Hope being awarded to just anyone – and I doubt my people would accept it.”  
  
“I suspect Uncle Jonathan is likely to award the fief to _you_ ,” Alan offered, taking a seat in an emerald green armchair. Kel smiled at the contrast the chair made with Alan’s hair, which was really more of a strawberry blonde than Alanna’s bright red, but still flashed against the velvet plush, but shook her head in response.  
  
“There would be such a fuss if I were awarded a fief,” she noted, taking a seat across from him and mechanically reaching for her box of Yamani green tea and going through the motions of tea ceremony. It wasn’t proper, the way she was doing it – certainly, either Yuki or Shinko could put her to shame, and would probably cover their faces with their fans in embarrassment if they caught Kel’s tea ceremony, but it was meditative. It was calming, it let her think for a long moment, and that was something she liked about Alan – he never felt the need to fill the silence with words.   
  
She finished the ceremony, half-hearted as it was, and offered him the wide bowl of tea. “What of Stone Mountain, Genlith, Runnerspring? All are powerful fiefs, and I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have something to say about the Girl being awarded a title and fief.”  
  
Alan shrugged, raising the bowl to take a sip. Kel did the same, waiting – after almost four years of friendship, they had long since learned to read each other’s silences. Alan was thinking, and now was not the time to interrupt.  
  
“I think you sell yourself short, Kel,” he said finally. “Regardless of the financial power of the Genliths, the mining industry of Stone Mountain and the notable stables of Runnerspring, none from those houses have distinguished themselves in the war. You stopped the killing machines, and it is known that that was the turning point in the war. The fact that you did so against orders was never made known. Other houses, such as the haMinches and the Naxens, are as wealthy as the Genliths; Dunlath provides a significant mining industry now; and both Cavall and Macayhill put greater efforts in the war and both have impressive stables. You have broad support from the north, so I expect you’ll be Baroness of New Hope before the end of the Midwinter holiday.”  
  
Much to Kel’s surprise, Alan’s words turned out to be true. Fortunately, she was not the only one to receive a new title that holiday – Alan himself became Sir Alan of Pirate’s Swoop.  
  
Even more surprisingly, he took orders to accompany Kel north, since Merric had taken orders in the south.  
  


XXX

  
  
At thirty-two, things were different.  
  
The war was long past, and New Hope was a booming, self-sufficient fief, able to trade with neighbouring fiefs and, due to the former Scanrans, the first fief to open land trade with Scanra to the north. Over time, stone walls came to replace the wooden ones, and the camp expanded to a town, with roads, cottages, fields. Instead of refugees living in a fort, her people had become farmers, stonemasons, carpenters, fishers, weavers, metalworkers, merchants, of the town of New Hope.  
  
Trade, in particular, was excellent. The Scanrans produced excellent wool, which they used to create thick sweaters that were warm even when wet – a necessity for the cold winters of the north. Kel had, one year, presented each of her friends with a Scanran sweater for Midwinter, some decorated with the Scanran traditional geometric patterns and others with more traditional Tortallan designs. Seemingly, her gifts created a thirst for better winter clothing among the Corus elite. As the first fief to open land trade, New Hope was the primary beneficiary of the new trend, and no matter what later fiefs tried, Scanran merchants had long memories and continued trading through New Hope.  
  
Irnai, now almost sixteen years old, had long since moved to Corus to study at the Royal University. She came back to New Hope twice per year, once at Midwinter and once over the summer, but Kel harboured no illusions over whether she would ever return to settle permanently at New Hope. Irnai had become a wanderer – though she called Corus her home and her home base, she had spent a season in Carthak, dreamt of returning to Scanra to find her own parents, and often planned inchoate trips to see other parts of the world.   
  
Tobe, on the other hand, had gone to Corus for training for his gift, but had returned to New Hope as soon as Daine and Stefan Groomsman deemed him ready. He had told Kel he was a northerner in his heart, and he would always be a northerner, and Corus would always be too crowded for him. He was twenty-two, now (or so he thought), and he was seeing one of the girls in town. As far as Kel could tell, it was serious.  
  
Her friends, too, had moved on. She and Neal and Yuki visited often, more often Kel to Queenscove after they had their first child, a baby girl that Yuki had immediately named Sakura as she was born during the Yamani cherry blossom festival. Two more followed soon after, and while Kel was delighted to be an aunt (again) to so many children, Neal had become a frantic father, perpetually worrying about his children’s scrapes and bruises while Kel and Yuki rolled their eyes and murmured commentary in Yamani. Merric, Seaver, Faleron, even Owen – all had married by now, and all had at least one child, and with their families and fief management, it became that much harder to see them.   
  
The only constant Kel had was Alan, who often came to New Hope between riding border patrols. He favoured northern patrols, she had long since learned – he mentioned that he enjoyed passing through both New Hope and Alanna’s former home of Trebond, and he knew and liked the north. Sometimes, Kel wondered if it was more than that. While her doors were always open to him, he did stop through almost once each month or so, and usually stayed for a stretch of days, at that. And, at thirty-two, she was less opposed to the idea than she might have been previously; they always had excellent conversations, and more than that they had excellent silences, and both were satisfied to simply sit with each other, doing their own things separately, and yet enjoying their time together.   
  
It didn’t hurt, either, that Alan was easy on her eyes. He always had been, she realized – loose strawberry blonde waves and blue eyes, possibly feminine on someone else, were counterbalanced by his strong jaw. He was tall, too, taller than Kel, though not by much, and no one would call him a giant on the scale of Raoul or Cleon. Rather than bulky, his muscles were lean, and in the training yards he was the mountain lion to Raoul’s bear.  
  
It was winter, just after midwinter, and Alan was tucked into one of her armchairs (red, this time, covered with a Scanran wool blanket to ward off the chill) in front of the roaring fire. He was thinking about something, his mind chewing on some difficult topic and his eyes hooded as he stared into the fire.  
  
Kel looked back to her knitting. It was a hobby she had taken up with the booming Scanran wool trade, and though she would never knit on the level of the old Scanran women in town, she could do the basic scarf. She frowned thoughtfully at her knitting. Somehow, her thirty stitches had become thirty-two when she finished the row, and she sighed and began working the decrease.  
  
“Kel,” Alan said, his voice surprisingly uncertain. Kel looked up – even in more than a decade of friendship, she had so rarely heard that tone in his voice. “Kel, what exactly is it that we are doing?”  
  
Kel set down her knitting in her lap, slowly, thinking over her words. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied.  
  
He sighed, set his head in his hands. “I mean, are we friends? Are we more than friends? Ought we be more than friends? I like you, Kel – I always have, and I only like you more the more time that passes. If you would be interested, I mean…”  
  
“I’m interested,” Kel blurted out, standing up and dropping her knitting on the floor. It was probably the most awkward conversation they had ever had, in over a decade of friendship, but this was a chance and Kel at thirty-two had long since forgotten her concerns as a Kel of twenty-one, and it didn’t matter what Neal would say because this was more than Kel had ever asked for or needed and if this was how Neal felt with Yuki then she _understood_.  
  
A grin, as bright as sunlight breaking through clouds, broke out over Alan’s face. He beckoned to her with one hand, and Kel took it, and leaned in for his kiss.  
  
One kiss led to two, which led to three and more.  
  


XXX

  
  
Kel was thirty-three when they married, a little over thirty-four when they welcomed the heir to New Hope with much fanfare. Young Lana of New Hope was born with a full head of Kel’s chestnut brown hair, but Alan’s bright blue eyes, and announced her arrival with, predictably, loud screaming. Neal was there, as her oldest Tortallan friend, wringing his hands; Yuki, too, was there, a calmer presence who had gone through this process a time or three before.  
  
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Neal muttered for the umpteenth time, wiping the newborn off with a soft cloth and weighing her carefully in his arms as Kel rolled her eyes and sighed, exchanging a look with her frazzled-looking husband at her side.  
  
“You’ve mentioned,” he replied tartly. “Several times. So, how is she?”  
  
“With a scream like that, I’d say she’s fine. She should be perfectly healthy,” he replied, checking the babe over with his Gift before passing her back to Kel. “Congratulations.”  
  
“Thank you,” Kel replied graciously, exchanging another look with Alan. They were both exhausted, and he did look like he was about to snip at Neal for using too many words. “I think we’re all tired, but we very much appreciate how quickly you came.”  
  
“Of course,” Yuki said, catching Kel’s look and interrupting Neal as he opened his mouth. “I know how tiring childbed is, and you should rest. I’m sure one of your servants will be able to find rooms for us. Come, Neal – we’ll catch up with them in the morning. Oh, and I forgot to mention, but Sakura sent us another letter home from page-training…”  
  
Kel laughed softly as they exited and Alan helped her from the chair into their rooms, babe in her arms.   
  


XXX

  
  
At forty-five, life was hectic.  
  
Jonathan IV of Conte abdicated the throne, heading into quiet retirement and handing the crown to King Roald II of Conte. It was an easier transition than it could have been, easier than Jonathan’s own ascendency, but there is still unrest among the people – Jonathan’s reign was synonymous with the Dominion Jewel, and while it was known that Roald had the Jewel, it just wasn’t the same. His coronation, the elders whispered, didn’t have the King Champion presenting the awesome artifact after a quest; his coronation had not been blessed with signs from the gods.  
  
“Signs from the gods,” Alan snorted when he heard. “My mother was there – that was a failed coup d’etat, not a sign from the gods.”  
  
Galla, sensing weakness and perhaps opportunity, declared war on the northeastern border, using the alleged trespassing of a Queen’s Riders group as justification. Kel had no doubt that the Riders in question were nowhere near the Gallan borders, and certainly even if they had been, there had been no harm done. New Hope, in the Greenwoods valley, was the most convenient mustering point.  
  
The booming trade with the Scanrans had paid off, in that the Council of Ten had no intention of getting involved in the Gallo-Tortallan war, and though they would not contribute support to Tortall they made clear that Gallan companies would not be passing through their borders. The Copper Isles, still recovering from the damages in the revolution, issued a formal statement of support for Tortall and condemned the Gallan expansion efforts. The Marenites took no position, and the Tyrans, as usual, cared not a whit because it would not affect the sea trade. The Tusaini, too, remembered too closely their own defeat a little more than half a century earlier, and despite their close ties to Galla remained formally neutral.  
  
It was no one’s surprise when Kel was appointed Lady Knight Commander of the Tortallan troops, leaving Alan to defend New Hope. It simply made sense, that – Alan was the Baron of New Hope, the people had confidence in him (though, for many, not as much as they had in her), and he was a distinguished knight in his own right, capable of managing defense of the fief. But the separation would be long, longer than any they had had since the Scanran War, and that last night before she headed to the borders, they lay awake, in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.  
  
“It’ll be a short war,” Kel said finally, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around him. “Shorter than the Scanran war. King Clovis is not as strong as he believes he is, and our border with Galla is short and mountainous. They will have a much higher attrition than we will, since we are only defending.”  
  
Alan turned his head, resting his chin on her crown. “Be careful,” he murmured. “I know you will, but be careful.”  
  
With Kel at the helm, the war was short, fast, and furious, practically a rout, lasting only one terrible season – but Roald had no interest in taking land from the Gallans, and settled for enough in reparations to care for the refugees, provide for families that lost members, and rebuild the northeastern borders. He was not, however, naïve; both Kel and Faleron of King’s Reach, now prime minister, convinced him to coax enough out of Galla to fund two new strongholds on the northeastern border.  
  
And when Kel finally made her way home close to Midwinter, home which had long since become New Hope, it was to Alan and their younger daughter and son, Elaine and Myles. Lana, now eleven, had fortunately gone to Corus for her own knight-training and had been well out of it; the other two had been sent to Lady Alanna’s safest holdings, Barony Olau. In any case, all were content to return home to New Hope, and none more so than Kel herself.  
  


XXX

  
  
At sixty-seven, it was worth it.  
  
Both Lana and Myles had long since passed their Ordeals, had adventured, and had returned, young families in tow, to manage the fief. Kel and Alan, though often still at New Hope, were able to take their quiet retreat from their daily activities.  
  
Instead, they travelled.  
  
They often paid visit to Elaine, who had opted not to pursue her knighthood and had instead studied at the Royal University. She had her mastery for engineering, and had become a well-sought fortifications architect – a promising fact, when she married into the prominent haMinchi family, who always had numerous castles to repair and a bundle of children to fill them.  
  
Other times, they visited Queenscove, particularly if Neal and Yuki were in house. Neal and Yuki, too, had largely retreated from the daily chores of the running of the fief, leaving such duties to their sons, Graeme, William and Ken.   
  
At least once per season, they were in Corus, visiting Irnai, Roald, Shinkokami, and other old friends who were usually in Corus. And once, they shipped out to the Copper Isles just before winter fell, and spent the winter season in Rajmuat visiting Aly and her family.  
  
But for the most part, they spent their time doing what they had always done. They read, most evening before the fire – books of history, books of poetry, books of science, books of quests, books of legends. Sometimes, they laughed over the way that history had become distorted, about how Kel had made her way into the same books, about how Alan had barely a mention (something, he assured her, he much preferred). They played chess, many afternoons, sitting in the warm afternoon sunlight, sunk deep in plush armchairs covered in Scanran wool throws, sunk deep into silence (Kel usually won). And, often, they played with their grandchildren – five of them, still young enough to live at home, still young enough to need watching, and still young enough to demand rides on the shoulders of their grandfather.  
  
At sixty-seven, Kel watched her sixty-four year old husband, whose hair had long since gone gray but whose eyes still sparked with the same reserved confidence, and was content.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: 
> 
> 1) One of the biggest advantages to writing Alan of Pirate's Swoop is that there's no canonical characterization for him, so I basically made it up. I somehow pictured him as being the calm counterbalance to Aly's wildness, and took it from there. 
> 
> 2) I didn't really realize it while writing, but a lot of inspiration for this one comes from one of my friends, who I adore deeply, who characterizes love entirely as "the rocking chair". So, here's to the quiet loves that end on a rocking chair.
> 
> 3) The other inspiration for this is Five for Fighting's song 100 Years. It's an older song, but for some reason I always liked it and tried to evoke the same sense of the years flowing by and change happening and yet not.
> 
> 4) This whole fic is supposed to have a quiet and meditative feel - I really tried to evoke all those moments in a relationship when you just sit quietly together, each doing your own thing and still enjoying being together.
> 
> 5) I don't know I'm really satisfied with this fic - I get the feeling like it's about 80% there, but not quite. One day, perhaps I'll work it over a little more into my image.


End file.
